


To Walk A Mile

by eyeus



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bodyswap, But mostly fluffs, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Pseudo-Incest, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-19
Packaged: 2017-12-26 10:24:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyeus/pseuds/eyeus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Your books on seiðr speak of a spell,” Thor says. “One that allows the exchange of physical bodies.” He glances up, hopeful.</p>
<p>Loki sighs. Trust that the first and foremost reason for Thor to delve into seiðr would be for carnal relations and the promise of untold intimacies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For **[this](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/12008.html?thread=28071144#t28071144)** prompt on norsekink, where “Loki swaps body with partner for sexy times, gets stuck that way; hijinks ensue”.

~

It’s hateful, this mundane peacefulness and quiet—most of it due to an uneasy truce Loki has with Director Fury and the Avengers these days.

Although it was Loki himself who had turned Thanos’ attention toward Midgard in the first place, the Avengers had cultivated a grudging respect for Loki ever since he helped them defeat the Titan. And after his aid with a multitude of other, clearly inferior villains, their respect had grown enough to offer him a consultant position with S.H.I.E.L.D. 

It’s not what Loki would prefer, but it allows him access to the Avengers’ resources, rooms, and though Loki is loath to admit it, _Thor_. Loki, however, craves chaos, the tumult of conflict and war, and these halcyon days at the Avengers tower gnaw at him, feeding the dark restlessness within. 

He tugs at a loose thread on the sheets of the bed, rolling it between finger and thumb. Perhaps he could loose a little magic on the populace. Manufacture a small-scale war between rival gangs. Or even— 

“ _Loki_.” 

Thor startles him out of his wishful reverie, warning in his tone. He edges closer on the bed, and, as if sensing the tangled skein of Loki’s thoughts, lets his fingers skim the edge of Loki’s knuckles. As if the motion could somehow draw out the nebulous web of darkness. How foolish. 

“What is it?” Loki replies, a touch irritably. He won’t deny that the dry brush of Thor’s hand against his is a calming presence, though.

“I have been perusing some of your books—carefully, I assure you,” Thor interjects at Loki’s scowl, “on seiðr.” He slides his other hand along Mjölnir’s haft, letting it wander over the raised ridges. There is a nervous energy thrumming through his fingers as he picks at the metal and leather.

If Loki didn’t know any better, he would think Thor was fidgeting.

“You, reading books on seiðr?” Loki scoffs, before the lure of curiosity seizes him. “And what have you discovered in your foray into magic?”

“They speak of a spell that allows the exchange of physical bodies.” Thor is resolutely avoiding Loki’s gaze now, choosing instead to trace the runic inscriptions on Mjölnir with his thumb. “If we could try this, perhaps we could…better empathize with each other.” He glances up, hopeful.

Loki sighs. Between interrupting his thoughts and coming up with harebrained schemes, Thor keeps him extremely occupied, diverting his attention from mischief. Although, trust that the first and foremost reason for Thor to delve into seiðr would be for carnal relations and the promise of untold intimacies.

“Very well. Show me this book,” Loki commands, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He already knows which book it is, but the sight of Thor scrambling eagerly for it brings the slightest twitch of a smile to his lips.

~

“Brother, could we not…” Thor frowns when Loki readies himself to cast a simple glamour on them both. “I would rather go as we _are_.”

Loki has deemed that some measure of disguise would be prudent before they leave to secure supplies for the spell. “You would rather your precious mortals recognize us— _me_ —and run screaming from their shops? Thus denying us of the materials we need, as entertaining as that might be?” Loki raises a critical brow. 

“You are no longer their enemy, Loki. After all the good you have done while working with us and S.H.I.E.L.D., they will recognize you for what you are now, not for days past.”

“As a liar?” asks Loki, with a cruel curve to his mouth. “A _cheat_? Who knows when the false prince of Asgard will turn against Earth next? The Jötunn traitor who—”

“As my _brother_ ,” Thor replies. He heralds his approach with careful fingers along Loki’s arm. Closes what little distance there was between them and cradles Loki against his shoulder. “In arms. And in bond.”

“Ah, yes, living in the shade of your greatness, once again. ‘Brother of Thor’, I was called when I arrived. Never _Loki_ , never my own, but always, _always_ —”

“Loki,” Thor says softly. He winds his arms around Loki’s waist, gentle. Loki has taught him by now that brute force is not how he works, that Thor cannot purge the bitterness from him with overenthusiastic hugs. That Loki needs time, space, and careful though generous displays of affection. “Forgive me. That is not what I meant.”

Loki soaks in the warmth and tenderness Thor exudes as he presses his face into Loki’s neck, and at the soft touch of Thor’s flannel shirt, all the fight bleeds out of him. “As we _are_ , then,” Loki sighs. “But at the first sign of trouble, allow me the pleasure of an ‘I told you so’.”

“Aye,” Thor agrees happily, and before Loki is aware of it, Thor has his hands under Loki’s arms, lifting him into the air.

“Do not spin me around the room like some maiden,” Loki commands pre-emptively, scowling. “Thor, _no_ —” 

Thor laughs, a deep rumble of genuine pleasure, and does so anyway.

~

They make it to the local supermarket without incident.

Thor is dressed in the blue flannel shirt that he’s inexplicably fond of (a gift from Loki at Yuletide, but there’s no reason he needs to wear it all the damn _time_ ) and jeans, while Loki sports a dark grey blazer with a green, loose-knit wool scarf Thor gave him, both of them without the security of Loki’s glamour. 

Most of the items the spell calls for can be found here, including the ones Loki refuses to arouse suspicion for by pinching from the Avengers’ shared kitchen. They gather such things as rock salt, rose petals, pillar candles and red wine; the more obscure ingredients Loki is sure they can find in herb shops scattered throughout lower Manhattan. Besides, he has most of the other crystals and stones that they will need. 

He’s pondering just how much of the wine they’ll have left over after the spell, when a vividly red package drops into their purchases. 

Loki stops, and inspects the new addition rather pointedly. “Thor. What is the meaning of this?”

Thor shifts uneasily in place, the most pleasing flush coloring his cheeks at having been caught sneaking condoms into their basket. “I thought—that is, J.A.R.V.I.S. always said—”

“Ah.” Loki presses his lips into a thin line, stifling a laugh. It is true that they have been repeatedly reminded—and reprimanded—by Stark’s A.I. that the staining of linens with seed, Asgardian or otherwise, is poor form. 

Loki still refuses to use them on occasion, as a defiant _Take that_ to J.A.R.V.I.S. 

When Thor offers him a feeble grin, Loki notices an unusual giddiness, in the way he’s tapping his fingers along shelves, the odd jittering of his leg. Nothing immediately obvious, just small tells not unlike the ones Thor had when he was spoiling for fight in their younger days, when Thor was more bold and brash. 

Loki’s unsure if it’s the purchase of condoms themselves that’s causing it, or the promise of actually using them later, but he reaches out, letting his fingers brush against Thor’s. Thor stills instantly. 

“Patience, Thor,” Loki murmurs. He glides his knuckles along the side of Thor’s hand, tracing the blue-black of veins up the length his arm, the touch feather-light and teasing.

And if he finds the subsequent shiver that runs through Thor immensely satisfying, he will never admit it.

As they continue with their shopping, it strikes Loki how terribly domestic this is: Thor sneaking in pop-tarts for himself, cakes and sweet breads he thinks Loki will enjoy, and herbs he’s heard Loki mention as being _not altogether useless_ , while Loki shops for them both from a list written in Thor’s lazily scrawled hand, humming in absent approval when they find what they need. 

It’s a feeling that’s only reinforced when, on their way home (and isn’t that a funny thought, the idea of the Avengers tower as _home_ ), they cut through a park that embodies the dichotomy of new-old, with fresh-laid grass along archaic wooden benches, children frolicking among the seniors playing chess and feeding pigeons. 

An elderly couple sits on one of the benches, a bag of bread crumbs forgotten between them, as they share light, sporadic kisses. Gentle, loving touches. The delicate exchanges of affection remind him of Frigga and Odin, of stolen moments Loki had seen as a child, when they were not the reigning monarchs of Asgard, but simply husband and wife. 

Loki’s steps don’t falter and he doesn’t slow to look at them, but he watches them from the corner of his eye, envious. Wondering if he will have something like they do, someday. 

It’s only when Thor bumps into his back that Loki realizes he _has_ slowed, to a stop, mouth tilted in an oddly wistful manner. _Damn it_.

“Loki,” Thor breathes. There’s the sound of bags being set down, and fingers brush against the inside of Loki’s wrist, soft, stroking, before Thor’s suddenly tipping Loki’s chin back and kissing him, in public. His hands are gentle as they slide around Loki’s waist, safe, precious touches that emulate the couple on the bench.

Thor has never been one for subtlety. 

Loki smiles against Thor’s lips, feels the answering grin on his own. He commits the moment to memory—the lazy summer sunshine overhead, the warmth of Thor’s hands encircled over his hips, the sweet smell of spun-sugar from a confectionary cart nearby, children’s laughter, the tug of teeth at his lip, sucking, _bruising_ —tucking their own stolen moment away, deep into his repository of recollections. 

It slots neatly into his precious hoard, just below his first memory of Thor’s idiot-bright grin when Loki was still in Frigga’s arms. Next to the exact shade of blue of Thor’s eyes, the precise tang of Thor’s blood—all the little things that have made a home in Loki’s heart.

Loki sighs into Thor’s mouth when he’s done, pressing further in to deepen their kiss. 

Thor allows it for all of a heartbeat, the promise of something darker, deeper, somehow _more_ , before pulling away completely. 

“Patience, Loki,” Thor chuckles, when Loki whimpers at the loss. He presses his thumb over Loki’s pulse, traces slow, teasing circles over his wrist. 

Loki snarls at having his own words thrown back in his face, but it’s half-hearted at best, especially when Thor slips his fingers into the spaces between and they walk together, with hands intertwined and bags in tow, back home.

~

The setup of the spell itself takes a fair amount of time. Loki lays out the ingredients in order of usage, and carefully inscribes runes within a magic circle on the floor, where the brewing of the spell’s draught will take place.

“Are we to engage in lovemaking within the circle?” Thor asks at one point, curious. “As part of the spell, of course,” he adds quickly, crimson blooming high in his cheeks.

Loki quirks a brow, amused. “No, nothing so crude,” he replies, though he allows a small smile to play across his lips, letting Thor know he’s filed the idea away for later. Perhaps after they’ve seen this experiment through.

He stirs the ingredients together just so, mixing rock salt and crushed herbs with fragrant petals, then reads the ancient incantation by candlelight as a dark liquid bubbles and boils in the flask. When it’s ready, he pours it out, the full volume just enough for two vials. The inky concoction is overlaid with a thin sheen of purple and gold, like oil on water, a liquid replica of the colors of the Bifrost. 

Thor wrinkles his brow at it, and Loki can’t help but giggle, because he echoes the sentiment: the draught looks like death, but oddly enough, carries a light scent of lilies. 

“Well?” Loki says, holding out the vial to him. 

Thor nods and takes it, as Loki holds his own vial to his lips. They tip their heads back simultaneously, and the liquid sliding down his throat sparks the oddest sensation: a delightful tingle that starts in his throat, then spreads to his belly and races through his limbs, and—Loki knows he should feel outraged, as the spell book never mentioned this, but somehow he can’t bring himself to care—slowly but surely begins to fog his mind, corralling his thoughts inward, crowding them into nothingness. 

The last thing Loki remembers is the taste of the silky darkness, like rain, the first of autumn, crisp and sweet and _cold_ ; like liquid lightning, like _Thor_ —

~

Loki blinks awake in the bright light of their room. It’s odd, this, the way everything is somehow brighter and more vivid.

“Thor?” Loki slides back on his elbows, trying to sit up, but his head spins and he sinks back into the sheets. He feels big, brutish and slow, somehow _off_ , and curls in on himself—which is when Loki catches sight of his own limbs: stockier and tanned.

_Oh_. 

“Loki?” Slender fingers reach out and bump against his own, and Loki grasps them without thinking. 

Thor blinks at Loki, a half-smile curving his lips. It’s completely novel, Loki decides; it’s him, but _not_ him. Thor, with all his bright wonder and curiosity, has been repackaged into a slighter, paler frame with dark hair and green eyes. He looks warm and muzzy, adorable in his disorientation, and Loki fights off the strange urge to trap Thor between his legs, press him into the sheets, and snuggle him to death. 

He wonders if this is how Thor sees him all the time. Wonders how much of this is the world seen through Thor-tinted lenses.

To distract himself, Loki turns his attention inward, marvelling at his new form. He twines his fingers through hair of sun-spun gold, letting it fall whisper-soft against his shoulders. Traces the finely toned musculature of his arms, legs, and abdomen. Fingers the curls of hair along his chest. 

Meanwhile, Thor explores the lithe body he inhabits, letting his fingers slide over milk-pale skin, touching lips swollen rose red with kisses. He marvels at his dark, silky hair, then runs his hands along the smooth planes of his body before palming his cock gently, lovingly. Strokes the length of it, brushes a thumb over the slit— 

“ _Thor_.” Loki’s tempted to continue staring, unabashed, but the near-pornographic display of his own body makes him feel self-conscious. It’s also the first time he notices the numerous battle scars along his body: remnants of past conflicts, some from Thor, and others inflicted by Thor’s comrades, back when Loki had still been driven by a misdirected hate for his brother. Blemishes and imperfections even the apples of Iðunn that Thor stole for him would not erase. 

“Don’t…” Loki swallows around the lump forming in his throat. “Don’t look upon—cast your gaze elsewhere.”

Thor frowns, reaching toward Loki in the dim lamplight of the room and knitting their hands together. “You need not be afraid, brother.” He turns Loki’s hand upward, presses a kiss into his palm. “This is a body I cherish, in the way that I cherish _you_.”

Loki watches with reluctance as Thor continues to revel in his pale skin, pressing the pads of his fingers to his chest, then his lips and hair. He feels inadequate—he, the Jötunn runt commandeering this golden physique for his own, while Thor takes pleasure in inhabiting his imperfect body.

“Be thankful you are not subject to my other form,” Loki says lightly. “The inferior one.”

“Inferior?” Thor narrows his eyes. “I find your other form equally beautiful.”

Loki shrugs noncommittally. They have only just achieved their nigh impossible goal to switch bodies, and he does not care to taint this moment with argument. Especially not one they have been through time and time again.

Thor remains equally composed, but does not drop the subject. “You think yourself unworthy of my love,” he observes, resting light fingertips on Loki’s hand. 

While Thor is quicker on the uptake these days, perhaps a natural effect of being more attuned to Loki’s thoughts, said through Loki’s body, it’s as if Loki is speaking to himself, and the hurt pangs deeper than it would otherwise. 

“I said no such thing.” Loki turns away. 

“Not in so many words,” Thor says, his hands reaching around Loki’s broader than usual shoulders, “but the sentiment is the same.” He lays a quick, open-mouthed kiss to the nape of Loki’s neck. “And in thinking so, you miss the truth of my love for you, Loki.”

“So your love would suit me ill?’ Loki says spitefully, aware of the tense line of his shoulders. This is too close to their conversation about ruling, and how a throne would suit Loki ill, and he does not _need_ this—

“Never,” says Thor, continually defying Loki’s expectations. “I only wish to tell you the truth of my loving you, Loki: that it is unconditional.”

“Unconditional?” Loki echoes, arching a brow.

Thor nods solemnly, threading their fingers together and pressing his lips to their joined hands. He seems to be done with exploring his new, lithe form, and turns his attention to Loki instead, kissing a trail between their arms: one on himself in Loki’s body, then one on Loki in Thor’s body, treating both of them to reverent, worshipful kisses. “I love you not in _spite_ of your Jötunn heritage, but as part of all that you are,” Thor murmurs, his lips a searing brand against Loki’s forearm, then his shoulder. “I love _everything_ —”

“Then you are no more than a fool,” Loki says quietly, but there is no malice in his voice, no ice behind the words. He lets Thor gather him into his arms, insomuch as he can with his slimmer, longer limbs. Lets Thor alternate between pressing playful, sloppy kisses along his arm, and stinging nips down along his neck. 

The atmosphere shifts when Thor begins kissing a trail down Loki’s chest, then over his belly, and before long, his lips are grazing Loki’s groin as he nuzzles the soft curls there.

“Thor,” Loki gasps, as Thor lowers his head over Loki’s cock, pressing light, airy kisses to the tip. He resists the urge to buck up into Thor’s mouth, but it turns out he doesn’t need to when Thor’s mouth slides easily around Loki, taking it down to the base, then glides back up while nipping and sucking with his lips. 

“Thor, you—” Loki groans, but Thor only shushes him, laving his tongue from balls to shaft, slow and careful, tonguing the underside of Loki’s cock just _so_. As if Thor knows what his body likes, knows just how much of this hot, wet heat Loki needs to feel pleasure. 

For his part, Loki throws his head back on the pillows, breath stuttering as he pushes his hand into the wild mess of Thor’s dark curls. “ _Stop_ , I—” he rasps, just as Thor engulfs the whole of Loki’s length in his soft, sinful mouth again. 

“Hmm?” Thor hums around Loki, before pulling his lips away. He wraps his fingers around the base of Loki’s cock and squeezes, _hard_ , making Loki yelp as his cock twitches indignantly in Thor’s hand. “Not allowed,” Thor whispers. He climbs his way slowly into Loki’s arms, lets his lips graze the shell of Loki’s ear. “Not _yet_ , because when you do, when I _let_ you spend, it will be inside _me_.”

Loki pulls Thor forward into a filthy kiss in retaliation, hands twisting tight in Thor’s hair as he licks dauntless and demanding into Thor’s mouth. Leaves him breathless, gasping, before kissing his way down Thor’s jaw, then biting and sucking whatever inch of flesh he can get his mouth on. 

When Thor starts to whine and rut against his thigh, Loki makes a mad fumble for the fragrant oil in the night table. He slathers his cock with the oil and remembers to dip his fingers into a generous amount before pressing them against Thor’s entrance, but Thor bats his hand away. 

“I want you _now_ ,” Thor hisses, breath heaving like he’s hungry for it, _aching_ for it, and before Loki can react, he’s positioned himself over Loki’s cock, sliding down with a soft, breathy cry. 

It takes all of Loki’s willpower not to thrust into his brother with wild abandon. Instead, he shifts his hips experimentally, savouring the heat and tightness as he moves deeper within Thor. 

“ _Ah_ —L-Loki, wait,” Thor stutters in a pained whisper. He leans forward, hips trembling, to brush his lips across Loki’s new stubble. “Please.”

“Are you all right?” Loki asks. He hadn’t missed the pinched expression on Thor’s face when he lowered himself down so suddenly, and keeps his hands on Thor’s hips, both to steady him and keep him from hurting himself with his eager overtures. 

“All right,” Thor manages to gasp out, between shuddering breaths. “I just…I haven’t…” 

His brow knits in what looks like agony, and Loki brings his thighs up behind Thor’s back, steadying him further. Thor deflates a little, resting his back against the makeshift chair as he moves his hips—small, undulating motions to get him used to Loki’s length, because he has never taken Loki into him with Thor’s body before—and it isn’t long before he’s rocking into Loki’s lap, moaning as he pitches forward and braces his hands against Loki’s shoulders, an exquisite wine-dark flush coloring his face and traversing over his chest. 

_Is this what I look like when Thor takes me?_ Loki wonders. _All wanton moaning and uncontrolled lust?_ It’s not fair how lovely Thor looks in Loki’s body, the way he arches into Loki’s grasping hands, the way his eyes flutter shut, hiding bright and clever green until they fly open as he gasps under Loki’s ministrations.

Loki is struck by the sudden urge to mar, to maim, and he sits up, winding his fingers into Thor’s newly darkened locks, dragging his head up and back by the hair to expose the pale column of his throat. He sucks and scrapes, all tongue and teeth as he leaves a trail of possessive bites, darkly satisfied at the crimson bruises that bloom across Thor’s pale skin. 

“Loki,” Thor murmurs against his neck when Loki lets him go, “hurt me. _Mark_ me. _Please_.” His softer voice, robbed of the depth of his usual baritone, travels straight to Loki’s groin, making him harder than ever, and he lies back to brace hands over Thor’s forearms, hips bucking up and _in_ , as he relishes Thor’s choked-off sobs.

“Thor,” Loki whispers, and he’s surprised at the deep timbre of his voice, so rough and filled with _want_.

He reaches out to claw Thor’s back, just the way Loki likes it done himself, careful not to break skin. Drags his fingers along Thor’s shoulders, down into the muscles of his back, tracing the knots of his spine. Thor snarls in discomfort from the heat, from the pain, and leans in, tucking his chin into Loki’s neck and _wrenching_ them over until Loki lies on top of him, then grabs Loki’s hips to drive him in harder, deeper.

“ _Yes_ ,” Thor cries out, writhing beneath Loki’s arms. “Yes, Loki, _yes_.”

Loki takes a moment to lean back on his elbows and watch Thor, curious. Where Loki draws his eyes shut in such moments—perhaps due to fear that Thor will see into his soul, find some truth he didn’t mean to divulge—Thor’s eyes are open and honest. _This_ is what Loki never wants to be, this _vulnerable_.

“Nay, not vulnerable,” Thor rasps, bringing his arms up to bracket Loki’s, hands steadying Loki’s shoulders. As if he’s sensed Loki’s thoughts from their long association. “ _Spirited_.” 

Loki wants to fling a taunt in Thor’s face to cover his slip, to laugh and deny, but before he can, Thor drags his fingers into the foreign golden locks of Loki’s hair and pulls him down to meet him in a fierce kiss. 

“When you dare to look at me this way, you are never vulnerable, but _spirited_ ,” Thor whispers. “Watching me like you _own_ me. Like you _possess_ me.” He tightens his grip on Loki’s hair, to demonstrate just how spirited. It’s not the first time, but it reiterates to Loki just how much they belong to each other, reinforces their mutual ownership.

Loki makes a strangled sound, because despite his best efforts, Thor has seen through to the core of him, and he hikes Thor’s legs over his shoulders, slamming his hips in hard to protest, to tell Thor he’s wrong. To _own_ him in an entirely different manner tonight. 

Perhaps it’s the change in angle, or that he’s found the elusive spot within Thor that makes stars flare across his vision, because on his next thrust, Thor actually _whimpers_ into Loki’s ear, nails digging deep into the flesh of Loki’s shoulders.

“More, Loki, _more_ ,” Thor pleads, the last word sobbed against the corner of Loki’s mouth. Thor’s face contorts into a sweet mixture of pain and pleasure, mouth falling open to allow the escape of tiny gasps and the draw of shallow breaths as Loki obliges, bending him in half as he fucks Thor into the headboard. It’s only when Thor nearly stops breathing from the strain that Loki relents, letting Thor’s legs slide down to his waist, where they hook immediately over his back.

From his telltale trembling and arching, Thor’s nearing his release, so when Thor snakes a hand down to palm his own cock, Loki closes his hand over Thor’s. Slides fingers and thumb along the shaft, circles the crown of Thor’s cock. 

With a quick twist of his wrist, Loki presses the pad of his thumb along the slit—just the way he knows his own body likes it—and Thor shudders hard in his arms, fingers grasping, throat pulled tight as he cries out, wordless, against Loki’s shoulder, painting their bellies with streaks of come. 

Loki’s pace doesn’t slow; he keeps grinding Thor into the mattress, coaxing the sounds of needy want from him, swallowing his hoarse cries with greedy, sucking kisses.

“Brother—brother, _please_ ,” Thor begs, cock twitching between them, spent, his fingers scrabbling weakly at Loki’s shoulders. 

It’s at the long familiar endearment that Loki comes undone, driving his hips forward in sharp, brutal thrusts until Thor is thrashing beneath him, and with a low, shuddering moan, he spills inside Thor, hips twitching until he’s utterly spent, and they slump together, exhausted, satisfied, sated.

~

When the early rays of sunlight filter through the shades, Loki’s eyes flutter against the intrusion. He feels sluggish, slow, and trapped, but when he wriggles to free himself, Thor murmurs in displeasure and pulls him closer, pressing himself against Loki’s back. Loki laughs, low and pleased; even though they’ve switched bodies, Loki is still the little spoon.

He shouldn’t find that as amusing as he does.

“Thor,” he tries, tongue lying thick and heavy in his mouth. He rolls his shoulders and hips, both pleasantly sore from last night’s debauchery. Nudges Thor in the ribs with his elbow. “We should…” He means to say _We should return to our true bodies now_ or _The reversal ritual takes some time_ —anything that might guilt Thor into action—but a yawn scatters the thought and his nudge only serves to tighten Thor’s arms around him, a petulant cling not unlike that of a creeping vine. 

Loki blinks blearily and kicks at the sheets, another bid to free himself from the bed and Thor, to see what’s left of the magic circle and their supplies. 

This time, Thor traps him in the bed with his thighs, tangling his feet around Loki’s. “After breakfast,” he mumbles, a breathy whisper against Loki’s ear. 

They end up eating breakfast in bed, feeding each other lazy spoonfuls of sticky-sweet children’s cereal. 

Later, Thor covers Loki’s neck with frosted-sugar kisses, kisses that darken into cherry bruises as he presses Loki into the sheets, riding him hard and fast. He cries out when Loki rakes his nails along Thor’s back, hard, this time drawing blood. And when Loki darts out his tongue to lick the pearl of crimson from his thumb, relishing the copper tang, Thor leans in to nip Loki’s lower lip, vindictive, sucking drops of his own velvet richness from broken flesh as they moan together, equally eager, dark and possessive. 

They collapse against each other when they finish, a tangle of limbs and giddy laughter. Loki burrows into the soft cotton sheets, cocooned in the warmth of their lovemaking, while Thor worships the nape of his neck and the lobes of his ears with his lips.

It’s not long before Loki weaves his fingers between Thor’s beneath the sheets and noses at his cheek, and Thor rolls on top of him, nestling between his hips. They make love again, this time slower and sweeter, and as Loki takes Thor deep within him, he makes sure to pepper Thor with tender touches and kisses, to gaze deep into those green eyes for all the secrets and truths he won’t give up himself.

~

“ _Stop_ that,” Loki hisses from the corner of his mouth, at the way Thor’s fingers have crept across the tabletop and settled lightly on his own.

Thor gives him a wounded look as he withdraws, but retaliates by letting his hip bump playfully against Loki’s under the table. The pads of his fingers tap Loki’s knee, where they linger, adamantly affectionate. When Loki looks up, he notices the others watching them warily, Rogers with a raised brow and Stark with narrowed eyes. Even Barton and Romanoff have paused in their conversation to glance their way.

Banner, meanwhile, is busy scribbling complex equations into a coiled notebook, absently spooning cornflakes into his mouth.

Loki’s aware that to the others, it looks like Thor’s just told Loki off for touching his hand. He tries his best to imitate Thor’s grin, and bases his next words on interactions he’s seen between Thor and his teammates.

“My friends,” he says, curling his lips into a desperate pantomime of a Thor-smile, “what plans have we made for the day?”

A collective sigh breaks the tension at the table, and Loki secretly preens at having fooled the lot of them. Still, he and Thor are switching back at the first possible _moment_ ; there is no way he can keep up this charade for much longer.

Stark is about to reply, when a rudimentary tear gas grenade bursts through the window, putters in place for a moment, then lies still. 

“Well. _Someone’s_ R  & D needs more funding—” Stark manages, before a flash grenade follows, exploding just as the tear gas canister hisses, filling the room with vaporous smoke. 

There’s blinding brightness and muted noise as tears are forced to Loki’s eyes, but all he can feel is Thor’s hand gripping his, too tight in the confusion, as all Hel breaks loose.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Call for Mjölnir,” Loki snaps. “I will not have you ruining my aesthetic as a sorcerer by _brawling_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For **[this](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/12008.html?thread=28071144#t28071144)** prompt on norsekink, where “Loki swaps body with partner for sexy times, gets stuck that way; hijinks ensue”.

~

The first few minutes are utter chaos: Rogers makes a dive for his shield, Stark activates the remote signal for his metal shell, and Barton and Romanoff scramble for their weapons.

Banner is nowhere to be seen, but somewhere in the distance, amid dust and torn beams, there is a roar and the sound of things being smashed. 

_First out of the gate this time_ , Loki thinks, surprised. Banner had been the last to arrive the time they fought Loki and the Chitauri.

The two Asgardians are instantly battle-ready in their armour, a feat Loki manages despite the little magic he has left to him in this body. With a mighty roar, Thor throws himself into the fray outside, fists flailing ungracefully, and Loki is forced to watch as Thor uses his body to _punch_ the enemy—a seemingly endless cloud of droids—out of the air. 

Loki hauls him to the side. “Call for Mjölnir,” he snaps. “ _Now_. I will not have you ruining my aesthetic as a sorcerer by _brawling_.” Trust that the moment the conflict he so dearly craved came, Loki would not have full control of his magic capabilities. 

Thor sighs and holds out his hand, waiting for his hammer to appear. There is no hint of her song, no low-pitched hum of the uru weapon. “She answers not,” Thor says desperately.

Loki flings out his hands, incredulous, as he stares wild-eyed at Thor. “We are under attack, Thor! Call for her, or—”

Without further fuss, Mjölnir comes crashing through the already ruined glass of the Avengers tower, and makes a beeline for Loki’s outstretched hand, nearly taking off his head and fingers with the flight. 

“She answers to _you_?” Thor asks, shocked. 

Loki winds his fingers around the haft. It’s a heavy, worn weight, the leather wrappings warm to the touch, but surprisingly, Mjölnir neither sears his hand nor falls heavy to the floor. “Evidently,” Loki notes, puzzled. 

She feels right in his hand, and although he thought he would have to fight her magic with his own, the hum of seiðr within Mjölnir flows in sync with what faint threads are left in Loki instead, allowing him to wield her with ease. 

Thor looks faintly disappointed— _crushed_ , even.

“By the Norns, what is it _now_?” Loki snaps.

“I…I would have thought she would answer to my warrior soul. Or at least—”

“Yes, yes,” Loki sighs, flapping his hand. “You feel betrayed by Mjölnir for not heeding your call. We shall switch back at the first opportune moment, but this _is not it_.”

He tries to swing Mjölnir the way he has seen Thor do, minute arcs of the wrist to build speed and raw power in each revolution, but the hammer jerks out of his hand and lands several yards away. Loki presses his lips together, dismayed, and quickly surveys the area. Thankfully, the other Avengers are too preoccupied with fending off the onslaught of the incoming fleet to notice his blunder. 

Loki dashes forward to retrieve the hammer, but can only stare uselessly at it. He would be better off using seiðr, except its efficacy has been severely muted now that he inhabits Thor’s body. In fact, he can barely conjure sparks of it now, let alone whole illusions and offensive spells.

“Like this,” Thor says, suddenly too close, his breath warm against Loki’s neck as his hand folds over Loki’s. He guides Loki through the proper swinging motions, of how to attack. How to fly. And how to call forth a—

“I’m aware your precious mortals adore romantic sagas in which one teaches another how to wield a weapon, but if you haven’t noticed, we have _an invasion_ overhead.” Loki jerks his chin in the direction of the droid swarm, air thick with the metallic assailants and the sound of their chittering mechanic hum. 

“Precisely why you must learn how to use Mjölnir,” Thor growls, fingers gripping Loki around the waist to steady his swings. “ _Properly_.” His voice softens after, like the hold he has on Loki, trust and faith implicit in every word. “And if anyone is worthy of wielding her now, it is _you_.”

~

In the end, the other Avengers manage to push the enemy back, Stark frying them with repulsor blasts, Barton picking them from the sky with his exploding arrows, and Thor holding his own with a spear of Loki’s design, but the final blow comes in the form of a storm, called from the top of the Avengers Tower, that whisks the remainder of the droid army into a tumultuous maelstrom and tears them to shreds.

It is _Loki_ who brings the thunder this time; the one who brings the lightning.

As the sharp smell of ozone permeates the air, he revels in the cool, resultant rain, the trickle of it over his eyelids, lips and tongue. It is strangely liberating. 

“I knew you could do it,” Thor says quietly from behind him. He draws Loki close, his hand warm against the rigid line of Loki’s shoulders, as they watch the rain cleanse the air of the destruction their enemy had wrought.

Loki says nothing, except to tighten his hold around Thor’s waist. This electrifying edginess after calling a storm must be how _Thor_ feels all the time. 

“Although,” Thor adds thoughtfully, with the slightest upturn to his mouth, “I do not toss my hair about in the wind with such exaggerated motions as you.”

Loki glances slyly at him, before whipping his blonde hair in motions that would do a Midgardian shampoo commercial proud. “And I hardly charge into battle with your…savage flailing,” he retorts when finished. “My spellwork utilizes precise hand gestures; economy of motion, if you will.”

Thor has barely opened his mouth in riposte when the other Avengers crowd around them, with congratulations. 

“Good job,” Rogers nods, thumping Loki on the back, while their green-skinned compatriot growls, “Hulk _glad_ ,” and pokes his shoulder, sending him a half-step forward. Romanoff simply nods at him, sliding her guns back into their holsters. 

This surfeit of positive attention is strange and rather grating on Loki’s nerves, but he pulls his lips awkwardly into a broad, Thor-like smile. 

“I could not have done it without you, my friends,” he says. “But above all, I could not have done it without my brother.” Loki slings his arm around Thor’s shoulder and pumps Mjölnir into the air, jubilant.

He doesn’t even have to look at Thor to know his brother’s reaction; Thor’s answering smile—so unlike his own, the dark, secret void of a dying star—is radiant enough to rival the sun, in warmth and brightness both.

~

In the aftermath, Loki sets things to rights again with Thor’s help, especially once they discover that Thor can perform simple spells Loki has demonstrated first. Meanwhile, Loki channels what little magic he can while still in Thor’s form into reconstruction.

“We must _coordinate_ ,” Loki murmurs, as Thor tries to repeat Loki’s whispered incantations and motions. “Elbows in, flick your hand gently—no, not a clumsy flop like that—” He sighs, pressing fingers to his temples as Thor sends another recently-mended pane of glass flying into the side of the Avengers tower, where it shatters again.

When they’ve finally rebuilt most of the surrounding area (thank the Norns for a centralized rather than city-wide attack), Loki sorts through the mess of their floor. The major furnishings remain intact, but a vial of carefully contained vitriol, the key ingredient in the reversal spell, lies shattered, the liquid seeped into the carpet. 

“No, no, _no_ ,” moans Loki, fingers scrabbling at the broken glass. Shards slice into the pads of his fingers, unforgiving, and he winces. “We _needed_ that to reverse the—”

“Loki, stop,” Thor demands. “Let me see.” He kneels to take Loki’s hands in his, and after surveying the damage, disappears into their bathroom. When Thor returns, he begins clumsily wrapping the injured digits with strips of adhesive cloth. “Band-aids,” Thor explains, as Loki eyes them suspiciously. He secures the miniature bandages in place and presses a kiss to Loki’s fingers. “There, done.”

“Do not expect my gratitude for this,” Loki sniffs haughtily. He’s sure he could have mustered enough magic for a simple healing, but of _course_ Thor had to leap in and do things his way.

“I would expect no such thing,” Thor smiles, carefully folding Loki’s hand into his own. He glances at the ruined vial, then down at their twined fingers, Loki’s bandaged and hurt. “Perhaps we should let our friends know what happened,” Thor suggests. “They could help us.”

“ _Your_ friends,” Loki hisses. “And what reason could we give that would lead them to believe we did it for anything besides carnal curiosity?” He tugs at their bond, trying to jerk his hand away, but Thor hangs on stubbornly, unyielding. Loki gives up with an exasperated sigh. “Very well,” he says finally, “but cut me a sample of _that_ first.” 

He points at the bit of wilted carpet, and Thor grabs a pair of scissors—likely pilfered from the same place he obtained these “band-aids”—only too happy to oblige.

~

As it turns out, the elusive ingredient that is painfully hard to procure in Asgard is rather plentiful in Midgard, by another name.

“Oh,” says Banner, after analyzing the dregs of carpet Loki grudgingly produces. The doctor blinks at the two of them in the harsh light of his lab. “You’re looking for sulphuric acid.”

He rifles through a drawer located under the lab bench. Banner’s research on the collected droid scraps lies to the side; Fury’s asked him to determine their origin, and in so doing, find out who was behind the attack. 

When Banner emerges again, he hands Loki a clear, sealed tube of liquid. “Here,” he says.

Loki beams at him and takes the tube. 

“Uh,” Banner says quickly. “Should I ask what this is for?” He leans against the lab bench and taps his finger against his folded arms.

“Stains on the carpet?” Thor supplies helpfully.

“Wait, that’s not what you use reagent-grade sulphuric acid for—” Banner calls after them, before Loki’s dragging them both out of there. 

“‘Stains on the carpet’? _Really?_ ” Loki hisses, as they make a beeline for their room.

Thor spreads his hands, shrugging. “What would you have said?”

Loki pauses, at a loss for words, and an old taunt returns to haunt him: _What happened, silver tongue turned to lead?_ “Not that.”

Thor seems to sense Loki’s uneasiness, and weaves his fingers through Loki’s. “We have what we need now, at any rate. It is enough.”

His touch grounds Loki, and he’s reminded that Thor is here on Midgard, with _him_ , neither cavorting with the Warriors Three and Sif, nor basking in Odin’s favour back in Asgard.

“It _is_ enough,” Loki says, more sincerely than Thor will ever know.

~

“I will miss this,” Thor says mournfully, eyeing the vial of noxious purple liquid.

They’ve redrawn the proper runes and gone through the incantation. Now all that’s left is to ingest the draught that Loki has boiled to return them to their true forms.

“Miss what, being shunned? Having everyone stare at you like you’ve a second head?” Loki breathes out a bitter laugh. What could there possibly be to miss about being _him_?

Thor shakes his head and takes Loki’s hand. “Having a better idea of what it’s like to be _you_.”

Loki motions for him to elaborate, but Thor only shrugs and smiles. He’s gotten better at keeping secrets from Loki, and though Loki misses their transparency of the old days, he doesn’t mind this occasional enigma that Thor’s become—it only means there is more to discover about him, to unravel, with time.

“Are you ready?’ Thor asks.

Loki can feel the pulse jumping in Thor’s wrist, the only sign of his trepidation, and he draws in a slow breath of his own. Truth be told, he’s gotten used to being his hulking oaf of a brother, but as much as he has enjoyed the greater strength, bottomless appetite and rippling musculature, Loki’s ready to return to his own body now. 

He nods, and together, they tip the contents of the vials down each others’ throats. 

The effect is instantaneous, a dizzying, heady rush of unfamiliar, swirling color laid upon unending blackness. “Thor?” he calls, hating the child-like fear in his voice as he reaches out blindly. 

Strong, steady arms grab his shoulders. “I’ve got you,” Thor says. “I’ve got you, Loki.” He sounds worlds away, but it’s all the reassurance Loki needs, and he lets himself fall into the darkness, knowing that Thor will catch him. 

That Thor will _always_ be there to catch him.

~

Loki comes to slowly on their shared bed, blinking in the dim light of the room. He stretches his arms, inspecting and patting himself thoroughly, to make sure everything is in fine working order. The familiar tendrils of seiðr thread through his body once more, while his Jötunn heritage is again under his control, evident when Loki summons fire to his fingertips, then tries calling a serrated blade of ice along his arm.

To his right, Thor stirs, blinking groggily at the display of seiðr and elemental magic both. He sits up and stares at his hands, tugs at his hair. Lifts the waistband of his trousers to check—

“You _lout_ ,” says Loki, punching Thor in the shoulder. He’s unable to keep the relieved giggle from bubbling out though, because it was one of the first things Loki checked as well, and the only Mjölnir he can lay claim to now is in his pants. 

Thor grins. “You’ve done it,” he says, in hushed excitement. His palm skims over Loki’s knee and squeezes. “You’ve _done_ it. We are back to our old selves.”

Loki snorts. “Brewing the antidote according to the book took no time at all. It hardly taxes the limits of my intelligence to follow _written instructions_ , Thor.”

“Mmh. Still,” Thor laughs.

 _Still_. Loki mulls that over. This is Thor realizing the need to recognize Loki’s own achievements. Before, he might have said _We’ve done it_ , but now it’s _You’ve done it_ ’s and _I knew you could_ ’s. 

It would be terribly remiss of Loki not to acknowledge, even reward this change.

He sweeps his cloak to the side, stalking toward Thor on their bed. _Clever_ Thor. _Brilliant_ Thor. “You said you would miss this,” Loki says coyly, drawing Thor’s hand toward him, placing it over his own heart. “Perhaps you would like to reacquaint yourself, in the method possible?”

“I _would_ ,” Thor answers, grinning broadly as he catches on, and Loki surges forward to claim his mouth, tongue licking boldly against Thor’s. He pushes Thor into the headboard, and with a deft twist of his hand, magicks their armour and clothing away, lest Thor ruin them in his haste.

Thor growls, disappointed—as if his plan to strip Loki down to nothingness has been cruelly thwarted—and hooks Loki’s knees in his, manoeuvring them over in the bed until he’s knocked Loki onto his back and driven the breath from his lungs. 

“Thor,” Loki manages, before Thor’s bracing strong hands against Loki’s shoulders, claiming his mouth with a series of wet, messy kisses. 

He’s already half-hard by the time Thor trails gentle fingers over his cock, but before Loki can reach down and help things along, Thor’s pushing against him, the sweet slide of his hips bringing their cocks together with rough, delectable friction. When even that ceases to be enough, Thor takes them both in hand, stroking them to fullness with steady, unhurried motions. It’s the slow drag of fingertips along the underside of his cock and the lovely press of nails against the crown that has Loki aching for Thor to fill him, to stretch him to impossible proportions, and he subtly makes his desires known. 

Subtle, in the way that he rakes his nails down Thor’s torso and hisses, “Do it. _Now_.”

Thor only torments him with more kisses to his neck, lips skimming the hollow of his throat as he splays his hands over Loki’s belly and hips, touching and squeezing in a slow, teasing manner, until Loki keens high in his throat and positively _begs_ for it. “Please, Thor,” he whispers. “ _Please_.”

“In due time,” Thor hums into Loki’s mouth, but he obliges by pressing the head of his cock inside Loki’s entrance, just enough for a hint of pleasure, to make Loki whine and grind his hips against what little there is. It chafes more than it should though, the burn nearly unbearable, as Thor has neither prepared Loki with precome nor licked him there, leaving Loki with a merciless pleasure-pain that has him sinking teeth into his lip to withstand.

“The oil,” Loki gasps, stopping Thor from sinking deeper inside him with a hand to his shoulder. He makes a blind grab for the oil on the night table, but it isn’t there. With some desperation, he tries to recall the spell for easing the way, but Thor’s sucking, nipping kisses are immensely distracting, and he can’t think, can’t _remember_ —

“Loki.” Thor cradles Loki’s cheek with his palm to soothe him. “Why have we need of it? You took me in this bed this very morning. Twice.”

“Yes,” Loki agrees reluctantly, “but it—” Loki stops; he won’t give Thor the satisfaction of saying it _hurts_ , lest he be seen as weak, but when Thor shifts inside him, he can’t help the wince and the choked-off gasp that follows. 

“Oh, _Loki_ ,” Thor breathes out in a rush. “I thought—I am so sorry.” He draws back slowly, carefully, and despite the sting of pain, Loki whines at the loss. “I think I dropped it somewhere beneath the bed,” Thor says guiltily, and yes, it was probably his overzealous riding of Loki in the morning that knocked it away, Loki thinks, before Thor’s hooking his toes under Loki’s waist, crawling over the edge of the bed to feel around on the floor. 

His toes tickle Loki’s belly, and Loki huffs an impatient laugh. “You clumsy _oaf_ ,” he says, making to pry Thor’s feet off him and tumble him to the floor as punishment, but then Thor’s climbing back into bed and pinning Loki’s arms to the sheets. 

“I told you I would find it,” Thor grins, laying playful, smacking kisses to Loki’s cheeks. He’s nosing a warm path down Loki’s throat when Loki mashes his palm into Thor’s face and says, “All right, get on with it.”

Thor chuckles, his breath warm against Loki’s skin as he slicks the length of his cock, leaving enough of the fragrant oil on his fingers to slide inside Loki and prepare him.

“Look at you,” marvels Thor. His fingers slip easily into Loki’s hole, pressing and probing, and Loki clenches around them, willing Thor to fill him, to thrust them in hard. Instead, Thor moves them in slow, lazy circles, wandering until he presses on something that has Loki jerking into his touch. 

“So hot and ready for me,” Thor purrs. “So _eager_.” 

Loki’s about to protest, but Thor’s soft intake of breath is all the warning he has before Thor’s lining himself up and pushing inside him, taking Loki with a single, powerful thrust. It draws out a shout, making Loki arch violently against the headboard. Only afterward does Loki remember to press his hands over his mouth to muffle his cries.

This time, when Thor takes him, the naked adoration in Thor’s eyes is too much; as if he’s found something new to appreciate in Loki, some facet unknown. Loki closes his eyes, trying to turn away, before fingers catch along his jaw, keeping him in place. 

“ _No_ ,” Thor commands, his voice regal and low. The voice of a king. _His_ king. “Keep your eyes fixed on me.” 

Much to his own surprise, Loki _obeys_ , eyes wide as he watches Thor’s hands wind around his body, a wordless reassurance of _I am here_ , the way Thor’s eyes crinkle at the corner, as if they appreciate what they behold, and the fierceness with which he takes Loki’s mouth, as if to say _You are mine, and I am yours_ , his every action a testament to their bond, the push and pull that strains but never snaps. 

Thor _would_ use actions to convey his feelings in lieu of mere words. Loki opens his mouth to taunt him for being a sentimental fool, but then Thor shoves a pillow under Loki’s hips and the thought is forgotten, because suddenly Thor’s thrusts are _divine_ and all Loki can do is keen and arch wildly against Thor.

“Yes, Loki, like _that_ ,” Thor encourages. “Let me hear you.” He urges Loki’s hips higher, hitching them over his shoulders until he’s brushing that spot that sends jolts of electricity and sparks of pleasure-pain up Loki’s spine. Wraps his hand around Loki’s cock, grinning as Loki cries out and fucks up into Thor’s sweat-slick fist. 

“Harder,” Loki moans, hands gripping Thor’s forearms. His head’s already swimming from the dual pleasures of having Thor within him and Thor’s hand around his cock, but all he can think of is _more_ and _harder_ and _deeper_ , for Thor to take him and claim him, consume him until there is nothing left. “Is that all you have, _thunderer_?” 

It’s a gamble, but more often than not, Thor can be counted on to rise to Loki’s deliberate taunts, giving as good as he gets. 

“Like this,” Loki goads, rolling his hips forward _hard_. “Who better to take the spirited god than _Thor_ , the mighty— _ah_ —” He cries out again, eyes flying wide as Thor heaves his hips forward, a vicious thrust that steals Loki’s breath and impacts the sweet spot inside him. 

“ _Faster_ ,” Loki begs, arching against Thor’s thighs, and each thrust following that is so rough and brutal and _perfect_ that Loki’s brought right to the precipice. “Thor, I’m so—so _close_ ,” Loki gasps. It comes out too high and sharp, bordering on a whine. 

Thor gives another few thrusts, before slowing to a complete stop, hips flush against Loki’s but completely still. 

“What are you—don’t just _stop_ ,” Loki hisses. He claws Thor’s shoulders in displeasure, willing him to continue, but he’s suddenly being lifted and repositioned until he sits atop Thor, thighs straddling Thor’s hips. 

“I would have you like this,” Thor rasps, low enough that Loki has to strain to hear, “spread so open and wanting. To finish like this, that I may look into your eyes and tell you how beautiful you are.”

“Your trite words would charm only the most mindless of maidens,” Loki snaps, rolling his hips to goad Thor into the delicious, angled thrusts they’ve perfected between them. “Now _move_.”

Thor’s fingers press against Loki’s waist, stilling him, before sliding up to tangle in his hair, gentle, pulling him down. His lips graze Loki’s brow. 

“Loki,” he chides softly, “did we not spend time in each other’s forms? Did you not see what I see?” Thor breathes deep, as if he’s memorizing the scent of Loki’s hair, mapping Loki’s face with his lips. “How I wish you would, Loki—that you would see what _I_ see.” He nuzzles Loki’s cheek, presses their foreheads together until they’re nose to nose.

Loki remembers shades of a face coloured with want, eyes of radiant green, a shapely mouth drawn tight with pleasure. Remembers thinking Thor was _beautiful_ as he fucked into him, thinking the same beauty couldn’t be possible with him, not _Loki_. 

“You see what you want to,” Loki replies bitterly. “An idealized version of a man who does not exist.” He slides his hips against Thor’s vice-like grip, urging him to be rough, to take what he will, because Loki cannot stand this tenderness, this abundance of affection that rolls off Thor in waves—

“No,” Thor insists, infuriatingly still. “I see my brother,” he says, punctuating this with a kiss to Loki’s cheek, “my friend,”—a sharp nip to his ear—“and my lover,” he finishes, with a soft press of lips to Loki’s mouth. “I have seen _all_ of you, Loki,” and it’s all-encompassing, the way Thor says it, “from the time you were a babe until now.”

Loki’s about to spit out some scathing remark at this sentiment—leave it to Thor to carve his way into Loki’s tightly guarded heart with a few well-placed words—when Thor wraps his arms around Loki’s shoulders, caresses the nape of his neck with a warm, safe palm. “And I have loved you for just as long,” Thor whispers fiercely.

Something shatters inside Loki’s chest at that, breaks _free_ , because it is Thor who has ever seen _all_ of him, only Thor who has seen the bigger picture when it comes to Loki and loves him all the same. “ _Thor_ ,” he gasps brokenly, in desire and understanding both, curling his arms beneath Thor’s broad shoulders. 

“Loki,” Thor breathes into his skin. His muscles pull taut as he gives in, driving his point home with each thrust. “ _Loki_.” He places a palm over Loki’s backside, just over where his cock heaves upward into Loki, pressing down, and Loki cries out, tears springing to his eyes as Thor pushes impossibly deep inside him from the motion. 

It’s too much—the swell of Thor’s cock within him, the taste of Thor on his lips—and he clings to Thor’s shoulders to anchor himself, stares helplessly into his brother’s eyes, only to find naked vulnerability, but also adoration and pleasure, all for Loki alone, all _because_ of Loki.

And it’s this, the fact that only _he_ can see Thor brought to ruin like this, that only Loki can see Thor wretched and unmade that brings Loki over the edge, shaking apart in Thor’s arms as he stains the thunder-god’s belly with his issue.

“Loki,” Thor gasps hoarsely. His fingers dig hard and bruising into Loki’s hips, and with three viciously rough thrusts, he follows Loki over the precipice, flooding Loki with his seed.

They share another kiss when their breaths even out, this one lazy and nuzzling as Loki slides off Thor and cleans them with the edge of a sheet. Thor winds his arms around Loki again, possessive and protective, pressing his chest against Loki’s back. 

“Thor,” Loki grumbles. He gives a half-wriggle of protest at being squashed into the sweaty hold, but doesn’t put up a fight when Thor noses the nape of his neck or tangles their fingers together beneath the sheets. As Thor snuggles closer, his hips brush against Loki’s rump, and slow rivulets of come trickle out between Loki’s thighs, soaking the bedding beneath.

Loki curves his lips into a smirk at the slick wetness forming between them on the sheets.

J.A.R.V.I.S. will be most displeased. 

Again.

~

Loki wakes first, to the strong, steady rhythm of Thor’s heartbeat. Despite the sharp pang of hunger—lovemaking is vigorous work, after all—he watches Thor sleep for a little while, letting his fingers play over hair of sun-spun gold, taking pleasure in the rhythmic sound of Thor’s deep, slumbering respirations. In the way Thor leans into his touch when Loki palms his cheek.

Eventually, the hunger becomes too much, and while Thor is usually the one to make them breakfast, it _would_ be rather inconsiderate to wake him for the sole purpose of doing so. Loki sighs; he’s sore enough that he can hardly be bothered to conjure clothing, so he winds a sheet around himself (this early in the morning, he’s sure no one will be up to see him thus) and rises from the bed. Thor curls into the empty space, frowning in his sleep as if disappointed by the loss of Loki in the bed before he settles in and his features smooth out again. 

Careful to keep his sheet from dragging along the floor, Loki wanders into the kitchen. There’s butter as well as a loaf of bread on the counter, and eggs in the refrigerator. 

It doesn’t escape his notice that no one has partaken of the scaly slab of bilgesnipe he left in there as a joke.

The ingredients are just enough to make eggies in a basket, a dish he’s learned from one of the movies Stark insists they watch as a group—something about vendettas and a character with a penchant for the letter ‘V’—and while it’s a simple recipe, Loki has grown partial to the sweet crispness of the buttered bread and savoury yolk. He flicks several drops of oil into a pan, and waits for it to heat as he butters a slice of bread.

Upon further reflection, he takes out another bread slice and egg to make one for Thor too, because he needs some variety other than pop-tarts. Loki frowns at the thought; even with his own sweet tooth, he isn’t sure how Thor manages to enjoy the synthetically-flavoured cardboard slices.

“Oh, you guys have switched back now, I take it?” 

Loki freezes. Stark’s sidling into the kitchen, casually browsing the contents of the refrigerator. While there’s the indignity of being caught with only a bedsheet on, leaving no doubt about what activities he’s just engaged in, Loki still has the bearing of a prince and will _not_ be startled by the likes of this mortal. 

He places bread slices and eggs into the pan as casually as he can, before turning to incline his head stiffly at the man in acknowledgment. “’Switched back’?” Loki tries, pretending to look confused. 

Stark rolls his eyes. “Please. We all know what happened with your little Freaky Friday experiment.” When Loki stares at him, trying to puzzle out the Midgardian pop-culture reference, Stark clarifies, “Your body swap. Look, it was obvious.”

“When?” asks Loki, nail beds blanching as his fingers tighten against the kitchen counter. “When were we found out?” Perhaps he had been too grudging with his geniality; likewise, Thor could have slipped in his own charade, his natural charisma shining through.

“Honestly?” Stark shrugs. “It was pretty clear when you first called for the hammer and it almost took your head off. Or when Thor rushed into the battle and tried to brawl without his hammer _or_ magic.”

Loki nods as he finishes grilling the egg-bread fusions and deposits them on a plate; these were all moments of weakness, when they were still feeling out the edges of each others’ bodies and personalities. 

“Plus you’ve got a few, uh, there,” Stark smirks, gesturing towards Loki’s neck, and Loki smiles back, all sharpness and teeth, because when Stark says _a few_ , he means the _cascade_ of rose-colored bruises along Loki’s throat. It’s been known that Thor clearly marks his territory, whether it be personal treasures, the spoils of a hunt, or Loki.

“But really, everyone _knew_ that one moment at breakfast. You know, the one where you were all touchy-feely and cuddly with him and ‘Thor’ gave you the proverbial slap on the wrist for it?” Stark jabs his index finger in the air, as if marking an invisible coordinate. “Right there.”

 _From, the beginning then_ , Loki realizes, mortified. He tugs the sheet tighter around himself for protection. The Avengers had known, and still they had treated him no differently than they would Thor, with back pats and encouragement—

Thor chooses that exact moment to shuffle into the kitchen, with his sleep-mussed hair, shirt rucked up to expose his stomach. 

“ _There_ you are,” Thor mumbles, shuffling toward Loki. As he slips his arms around Loki’s waist, nuzzling into the crook of his neck, Loki’s suddenly torn between wanting to smack Thor for giving away their secret at the start and bedding him _again_. 

It’s probably a testament to how well Stark knows them when he grabs a packaged salad and excuses himself from the kitchen in a hurry. 

Thor eyes the buttered, golden-brown bread with its plump yolks curiously. “For me?” he rumbles, his voice rough with sleep. 

“For _me_ ,” Loki frowns, darting out of Thor’s embrace and snatching the plate back protectively. He deposits it at the far corner of a table. “Though I might be persuaded to be in a charitable mood.” 

“Oh,” says Thor, his eyes of bluest blue lit in comprehension. “Perhaps it is well that I am in a gaming mood, then.” His arms circle Loki’s waist again, loosely, in apology.

There’s a hint of amusement in Thor’s gaze, Loki thinks, and if he’s honest with himself, of love, even. And when Thor’s arms tighten snugly around him in silent affirmation, it’s not so much a hint as it is a _flood_ ; a deluge of affection, of understanding, and love—so very much of it.

Loki turns then, his smile sly as he folds Thor into his cozy bubble of bedsheet and warmth. “What say you to uncovering another spell we can try?”

The grin Thor presses into Loki’s lips is anything but innocent, and more than answer enough.


End file.
